A Christmas Medley
by Vee22
Summary: Join Emma Woodhouse and Jake Knightley as they reminisce about past Christmases, experience present Christmases and dream of future Christmases. Modern Emma.
1. The First Noel

**The First Noel**

"I don't want to go see a baby!" twelve-year-old Jake declared scornfully.

He glared defiantly at his mother. "I want to go to the oval and play footy with the big boys. I just wish I had a proper football like everyone else does."

Blythe Knightley smiled patiently at her older son. He could be so tempestuous sometimes. He was nothing like the obedient ten-year-old John who never gave her any trouble.

_And yet_, she thought fondly as she looked into Jake's green eyes, so like his father's, _she wouldn't change one hair on his head for all the obedience in the world._

"Just come for a little while, Jake," she coaxed gently. "I'm sure Mrs Woodhouse would like to see you. She might even have a Christmas present for you. I'll drop you off at the oval after our visit, OK?"

"OK," Jake said with a sullen sigh, as though he was doing his mother a _very _big favour. And he reluctantly followed his mother next door, although the scowl on his face showed that he didn't want to be there.

**...**

"Oh, Elizabeth, she's beautiful!" Blythe said tenderly as she admired her neighbour's new baby girl. She had wisps of fine blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Dressed snugly in a white fleecy sleeper, she looked just like a little angel.

"She is, isn't she?" Elizabeth Woodhouse said proudly as she looked at her three-day-old daughter. "I was hoping she'd come on New Year's Day, but she surprised us by coming a couple of weeks early."

"And are you coping OK?" Blythe asked gently. She remembered all too clearly what being a mother of two very young children was like, especially when they were so close in age. At least Isabella was already eight and would be able to help look after her younger sister.

"I think so. Thanks for asking," Elizabeth replied gratefully. "To be honest, Henry seems to be far more worried! If he'd had his way, I'd still be in the hospital and this little one would be in an incubator. You know how protective he can get. All he wants to do is fuss, fuss, fuss."

"Oh, I know how that feels, alright," Blythe said dryly, remembering the solicitous actions of her own doting husband. And the two women giggled together, enjoying the feeling of shared camaraderie.

"So how are the boys?" Elizabeth asked suddenly.

Blythe spun around in surprise. She'd assumed that the boys were with her, but now they were nowhere in sight.

She noticed the open back door and groaned quietly.

"I'm sorry, Liz," she said apologetically. "Looks like they snuck into the backyard when I wasn't looking."

"Oh, that's no problem," Elizabeth replied easily. "Izzy's in the back – she'll keep them in line."

Blythe smiled. It was true – eight-year-old Isabella did seem to have a talent for getting her boys to behave, even though they were technically older than her. There was something about the power of feminine influence...

She rose from her seat and walked to the open back door.

"Jake! John! Aren't you going to come in and see the new baby?" she called.

A few seconds later, her two sons came running in.

"Aw, do we _have to, _Mum? We were in the middle of climbing the apple tree!" Jake protested.

"Just come see the baby and then you can go," Blythe said firmly. It wasn't that she was trying to keep her boys from their fun – but she knew it was important to instil manners in them from an early age too.

Elizabeth turned so that both boys could see the baby.

"Jake, John, this is Isabella's new baby sister. Her name is Emma."

John looked at the baby briefly, but soon lost interest.

"I want to go back outside," he whined.

His mother sighed and nodded her approval and he quickly ran back outside to join Isabella.

"Do you want to go outside too?" she started to ask her older son and then realised that he was standing completely still, his green eyes fixed earnestly on the baby.

Elizabeth noticed Jake's fascination and smiled knowingly at Blythe.

"Would you like to hold her, Jake?"

He gaped and looked at Blythe for approval. "Can I? I mean, may I?"

His voice was full of awe – so completely different from the scornful tone he had used towards her earlier.

"You may," Blythe assented. "Just be careful."

"But I don't know _how _to hold a baby," Jake muttered, looking nervous. "She's so little. What if I drop her?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Then you, young man, will have to explain yourself to Mr Woodhouse. Nobody's allowed to drop a pin around this baby as far as he's concerned."

Seeing the very alarmed expression on Jake's face, she added kindly, "But if you think it'll be easier, why don't you sit down?"

Once Jake was seated comfortably on the Woodhouses' couch, Elizabeth leaned down and gently placed baby Emma in his arms.

"She's so _little," _he whispered, awestruck. "Look at her tiny fingernails. And oh, she's trying to grab my finger!"

Indeed, the baby had made a grab for Jake's finger and she now held him firmly in her little fist.

"She's got him wrapped around her little finger already," Blythe murmured in amusement.

She was quite surprised by the affection that Jake was showing to this child. She was sure his own brother had never received this attention as a baby.

Elizabeth left the room briefly and came back with a small pile of neatly wrapped packages.

"The top one is for you, Jake," she said warmly, holding out the oval package that looked suspiciously like a football.

Jake glanced at the package and then again at the baby in his arms. Then back at the package... and then back at the baby.

He glanced sheepishly at his mother. "Is it OK if I just open it later?"

"Of course," Blythe said with an understanding smile.

It was another five hours before Jake finally managed to tear himself away from the baby. By that time, the football game at the oval was long over.

**...**

Years later, Jake Knightley had forgotten all about the football he received from the Woodhouse family that Christmas. But for some reason, he would always remember it as being the Christmas that brought the most special gift ever.

_**Author's Note: I told a few of you that I was thinking about writing a Christmas story for Emma and Jake... well, here it is! As you've probably figured out from the title A Christmas Medley, I have plans for several other Christmas chapters which will all centre around Emma and Jake's friendship and will be named after various Christmas songs.**_

_**Would you like to see more of these? If so, all you need to do is subscribe to this story and leave a review!**_


	2. The Little Drummer Girl

**The Little Drummer (Girl)**

"I know what I want for Christmas this year," thirteen-year-old Jake Knightley eagerly announced at the breakfast table one morning.

Blythe raised a quizzical eyebrow at her older son. Christmas was a good four months away and she hadn't even _begun _to start thinking about Christmas shopping.

"What do you want, Jake?" she asked patiently, deciding to humour him. He was a good boy, after all – if there _was _something special that he really wanted, she'd try her best to get it for him.

Jake's green eyes sparkled. "Mum, I want a set of drums!"

Blythe's eyebrows shot up in alarm. _A set of drums? _She winced at the thought.

"Darling, are you sure that's what you want? Wouldn't you rather have... tickets to the footy or something like that?" she asked cautiously.

Jake shook his head with surprising vehemence.

"_No, _Mum. I've decided I'm going to be a famous drummer one day. And to do that, I'm going to need the drums," he said calmly.

"I've worked it all out. A guy at school is willing to give me lessons and I'll pay for them out of my allowance. I asked Grandma and Grandpa and all the aunties and uncles to give me money for Christmas instead of presents. I just need another fifty dollars."

"Absolutely not! Don't you know how noisy drums are, Jake? We'd have the neighbours ringing up and complaining about you disturbing the peace! I'm sorry. You can't have a set of drums."

Or at least that's what Blythe _wanted _to say.

But she made the mistake of looking into her son's earnest green eyes and she felt her heart melt. He _had _put so much effort into working out the best way to get the drums and she would hate to be the one who threw a spanner in the works...

_Besides, what if he did become a famous drummer one day?_

"Well, I'll have to talk to your father," she found herself saying weakly instead. "See what he says."

Jake grinned triumphantly. "I already asked him, Mum! He said it was okay... as long as it was okay with you."

Blythe groaned inwardly. She _couldn't s_ay no now, she _couldn't _be the bad guy.

"Alright, Jake," she relented. "You can have the drums for Christmas. But you owe us, son. You owe us big."

Jake grinned gleefully, jumping up and giving his mother an impulsive hug.

"Thanks, Mum!" he cried excitedly. "You won't regret it! I promise."

"Aww... you're welcome," Blythe murmured, touched by the unexpected show of affection from the teenager who thought he was too big for his mother's hugs most of the time.

She really _hoped _that she wouldn't regret her decision.

**...**

_**The day after Christmas...**_

"Does Jake like his new drums?" Elizabeth Woodhouse asked as she sipped her cup of coffee. It was the day after Christmas and she'd come over to the Knightley home with some leftover plum pudding.

As if on cue, there was a resounding crash followed by several booms, and Blythe rolled her eyes.

"I think that just answered your question, Liz," she said ruefully. "He loves them, much to my detriment. I can only hope he gets tired of them and moves on to some other hobby soon."

She looked enviously at her neighbour. "You're so lucky to have _daughters, _Liz."

"I am," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Izzy's a good girl, she never gets into trouble."

She began to bounce one-year-old Emma on her lap and the little girl started wriggling hard. She sighed and put Emma on the floor, where she began crawling around contentedly.

"I don't know about this one, though," she said with a worried sigh. "She's going to be more of a handful, I feel."

"Oh, but she's so cute," Blythe said with a smile.

She leaned over little Emma. "Say Aunty Blythe? Say Aunty Blythe, pretty please?"

The baby looked up at her and gurgled.

Elizabeth sighed. "Aside from Mama and Dada, she hasn't really said anything concrete yet. So I guess we're still waiting for some actual words to enter her vocabulary."

"Oh, she's still young. Don't worry about it too much," Blythe soothed.

"Oh, I'm not worried. After all, Izzy didn't start talking until she was almost three and now we can't shut her up!"

Blythe got up to pour Elizabeth and herself fresh cups of coffee. Her eyes lit up when she remembered some news that she wanted to share with her neighbour.

"So, Liz, did you hear that Terry MacDonald _finally _popped the question to Katie Singh last night?"

"No, I didn't!" Liz exclaimed excitedly. "It's about time! Poor Katie's been waiting for so long..."

They were so busy gossiping that neither mother noticed when one-year-old Emma tilted her head thoughtfully to one side and started crawling away.

**...**

"Yes!" Jake said excitedly as he brought his drumsticks down in one final crescendo.

He'd gotten his drums as an early Christmas present just a few weeks ago and had been taking lessons and practising hard since then.

It seemed as though the hard work was paying off. Maybe he was a little biased but that AC/DC song had sounded pretty good to his untrained ears.

Jake grinned and got up, stretching his legs. He decided it was time for a break... and a reward. A slice of Mrs Woodhouse's plum pudding should do the trick.

He started walking to the kitchen when he heard a _boom!_

"What the...?" he muttered, spinning around quickly. His eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the precocious one-year-old who had dared to touch his precious drum set!

"Emma, no!" he exclaimed, running over and scooping up the little girl. She frowned at him petulantly and opened her mouth, looking as though she was about to yell. Or cry. Or maybe both.

"No, don't cry!" he said desperately, but since when has anyone been able to reason with a baby?

The look on her face read '_I'm going to cry, Mister, and you can't stop me.'_

"You want to play the drums? I'll show you how to play the drums!" he blurted quickly, resuming his seat, holding Emma on his lap.

"See, this is a drumstick and this is how you hit the drum," he instructed, showing her how to make a gentle bang.

She giggled as he handed her the drumstick and she brought it down... _hard!_

"Keep it down, Jake!" his mother called from the kitchen.

He groaned quietly. "You're going to get me into trouble, you know that?"

She looked at him sweetly and he felt his impatience fade. It was hard to be upset with a little girl, especially a little girl with _dimples._

"Alright, now you need to hold your hand like this..."

**...**

"I'd better get going, Blythe," Elizabeth Woodhouse said regretfully, rising from her seat and giving her neighbour a kiss on the cheek. "Now where's my little munchkin?"

She peered under the table. "Emma?"

Blythe frowned as she too glanced quickly around the kitchen. "Where did she get to?"

"I don't know!" Elizabeth gasped, her face growing concerned. "Emma! Emma!"

"Not to worry, Liz," a smiling Blythe said. "I've found her."

The two women stopped to stare at a very surprising sight – a thirteen-year-old boy with a one-year-old baby perched on his knee.

This, perhaps, wasn't what was surprising – but the pair of drumsticks in the baby's hands sure were. With Jake's gentle guidance and encouragement, Emma was banging away at the drums to her heart's content... and enjoying it.

"Oh, thank you for looking after Emma, Jake," Liz said with a warm smile as she reached out for the baby. "I'm sorry that she disturbed your practice."

The teenager looked suddenly bashful. "No, it's alright, Mrs Woodhouse," he mumbled awkwardly. "She wasn't any trouble."

"Say goodbye to Aunty Blythe. Say goodbye to Jake," Elizabeth murmured, taking hold of Emma's little hand and making her wave goodbye to her neighbours.

"Bye, Emma," Jake said with a quick wave back.

The little girl grinned at the older boy and although she was in her mother's arms, she leaned slightly forward.

"Jake," she said distinctly.

"Jake, did you hear that? She said your name!" Blythe said excitedly.

Elizabeth smiled proudly. "You should be happy about that, sweetie," she said to Jake. "Your name is one of her very first words."

Although Jake hadn't said anything in response then (being a teenage boy, he was a bit afraid of those icky things called emotions), he did feel an odd sense of pleasure upon hearing Mrs Woodhouse's words.

And from that day on, every time he played his drums, he remembered instructing the little drummer girl and hearing her say his name for the first time.

_**Author's Note: OK, so I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I figured I'd continue with these stories anyway. Hope you're still reading and that you enjoy this one. =)**_

_**Virtual candy canes and thanks to Lady Dudley, iambbq, SkiCan, margaretelizabeth209, TheImaginationAddict, moonlight08 and Stephy-Lou-Clark-Weasley for reviewing the last chapter! xo**_

"


	3. Joy to the World

**Joy to the World**

It was their first Christmas without Elizabeth Woodhouse.

Two-year-old Emma was too young to really understand the significance of her loss. But there were times when the precocious child would gaze around the room and ask, "Where's Mummy?" in an innocent tone that broke Blythe Knightley's heart.

Today was one of those times.

"Mummy's not here, sweetheart," she soothed gently, fighting back the stinging tears which threatened to overspill. "But Daddy and Isabella are still here and we're all here and we love you very, very much."

**...**

However, Henry Woodhouse was not able to offer his daughter the solace and comfort that she needed – at least not right now. Stunned by the sudden loss of his bubbly young wife, he had withdrawn greatly into his shell and rarely ventured out socially.

Blythe suspected that Henry Woodhouse had suffered a far greater shock than he would let on to others.

He was an overcautious man by nature and had delighted in fussing over his wife and young children, ensuring that they always wore enough layers to prevent them from catching chills and making sure that they had all their vaccinations on time. But the loss of his wife had hit him especially hard, essentially because it had been something that he could not prevent and had no control over.

A drunk driver had run a red light one evening and ploughed into Elizabeth's car. She had died instantaneously, while the other driver had escaped with relatively minor injuries.

Later on, people would callously remark that it had been fortunate that Isabella and Emma had not been in the car, not realising that this offered little comfort to the grieving widower.

He loved his daughters. Of course he did. But he had never really spent much time with them. It was Elizabeth who had looked after them from day to day.

Suddenly he was left with the responsibility of being their guardian and the thought terrified him. He couldn't take care of them. He didn't know how to!

He sought advice from the local physician, Dr Perry, who provided him with suggestions and pamphlets on how to rear his children. Many of these were ridiculously old-fashioned but Mr Woodhouse meticulously followed the advice to the letter, afraid that if he did not, he would be a failure as a father and that he would have let his deceased wife down.

It was fortunate that Blythe Knightley was there to help guide him, offer her own suggestions and occasionally take the girls off his hands. Elizabeth Woodhouse had been a good friend to her and a good neighbour. Looking after the bereaved family she had left behind was the _least _Blythe could do.

"What are your plans for Christmas, Henry?" she asked gently when the man came to pick up his daughters that evening.

He frowned, and it was obvious from the perturbed expression on his face that he hadn't even given Christmas a thought.

"I don't know," he said dully, eyes on the floor. "I've never really thought about these things. It was always Elizabeth who organised the holidays."

"Why don't you come to our house for Christmas?" Blythe suggested hesitantly.

"Your house? Oh, no, I couldn't impose like that," Henry protested, looking uncomfortable.

"Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't be imposing at all. My kids would be thrilled and I always cook far too much on Christmas, anyway."

She looked at Henry Woodhouse with a pleading expression. She understood that he probably wasn't up to being social, but _he _needed to understand that her invitation wasn't just for him, it was for his girls.

They were still young and they had lost so much. They deserved to have a truly special Christmas.

"Please," she added, noticing Henry's reticence.

He nodded reluctantly. "Alright. Thank you, Blythe," he muttered grudgingly as he called for his girls and they came running.

"Is everything okay, honey?" Peter Knightley said gently, putting his arm around his wife as she closed the front door.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've invited the Woodhouses over for Christmas."

"Good idea," Peter said, nodding, and she knew that her husband understood. "We'll have to make sure they have a great Christmas."

**...**

"It's Christmas! Can you say 'Merry Christmas', Emma?" Jake asked as he lifted the toddler to his shoulders.

She frowned in concentration and you could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

"Mewwy Chwistmas," she finally pronounced triumphantly and was rewarded with a big cuddle.

"Very good, Emma!" Blythe praised as she bustled into the living room, carrying the Christmas turkey.

Pleased at her praise, Emma continued to say "Mewwy Chwistmas!" for the rest of the day whenever she wanted somebody's attention.

It turned out to be a lovely day filled with great food, crackers, jokes and silly games. Even Henry couldn't help cracking a smile amidst all the frivolity and he actually chuckled when Isabella accidentally sent her piece of plum pudding flying into John's lap.

"Good aim!" Jake commented with a wink, noticing that the young girl was blushing at her faux pas.

She smiled sheepishly and decided not to be embarrassed about it. John was being awfully nice and acting as though it had never happened and Jake was pretending she'd done it deliberately. She wasn't going to let a little spilled pudding ruin _her _Christmas.

"You've outdone yourself, Blythe!" Peter exclaimed, patting his stomach. "Is there anything else? Honestly, I'm not sure I could eat another bite!"

"There's the Christmas trifle," Blythe mused, "but that can wait until later. I'll give you time to digest everything else first."

The two families ended up in the Knightley's living room, watching one of their favourite Christmas movies _A Christmas Carol._

"Sure you're not going to be too scared, Izzy?" Jake said teasingly.

The young girl stuck her tongue out at him in response. "I'm not a baby! It's not going to scare me!"

"Alright," Jake grinned, holding up his hands in surrender. And if he noticed Isabella shivering a little and shifting towards John when the first ghost appeared on the screen, he didn't say a word.

"I think I've got enough room for some trifle now," Peter declared about halfway through the film. "How about the rest of you?"

He was met with a chorus of 'yeses' and he grinned as he got up and walked to the kitchen.

Everyone was busy staring at the screen, completely absorbed in the movie. So they were startled, when a few minutes later, they heard a roar of laughter coming from the kitchen.

"Is everything alright, Peter?" Blythe called anxiously, already getting to her feet.

"Oh, that depends on your definition of alright!" Peter chuckled. "Henry, come into the kitchen and see what your scamp of a daughter has done!"

Well, a comment like that could only arouse _everybody's _interest.

The movie forgotten, they all leapt to their feet and quickly trooped towards the kitchen, wanting to see what was making Peter laugh so hard.

They were met with a comical sight, indeed.

Two-year-old Emma had obviously decided that she was ready for trifle before everyone else had.

Somehow – and Blythe wasn't quite sure _how – _she had climbed onto the kitchen counter and happily started helping herself to the trifle.

She smiled at them all charmingly, jelly smeared around her mouth, her hands still sticky from digging into the jam sponge cake.

"_Emma!" _her father exclaimed, horrified. "You shouldn't be eating that, young lady! All that sugar's not good for you!"

Clearly sensing that she had done something naughty, Emma lowered her head in apparent shame. Then as though she had realised what she needed to do to make everyone smile again, she grinned, showing off her baby teeth and declared "Mewwy Chwistmas!"

No comedian could have done it better.

Everyone began to laugh, even Mr Woodhouse, although he was secretly concerned about the effect of so much sugar on a two-year-old. He was determined to call Dr Perry and get his opinion as soon as they left.

"You're priceless, Emma," Blythe laughed as she picked up the two-year-old and gave her a hug.

"Hey, it's funny but we shouldn't be _laughing _at her. She's going to grow up thinking she can get away with being naughty just as long as she says cute things!" Jake protested, the amusement fading from his eyes.

Blythe privately wondered if her boy had been reading some of Dr Perry's pamphlets.

"Oh, lighten up, Jake," she said cheerily. "This little one will turn out just fine. How can she not, when she has all of us to guide her?"

This was said mainly for the benefit of Henry Woodhouse, who let a small smile curve his lips.

He greatly appreciated all that the Knightleys had done that evening. He'd felt alone when Elizabeth had died unexpectedly, but thanks to his neighbours, he now knew that he would always have their support and encouragement.

And he especially felt very thankful to have his two girls.

No matter how dark and foreboding his future looked at times, his daughters were two sparks of bright light that would _always _bring joy to his world.

_**Author's Note: Thanks to iambbq, moonlight08, Lady Dudley, AnGeL-oF-aWeSoMeNeSs and Emaelin for your lovely reviews of the last chapter.**_

_**Also, I've just created a TWITTER account! For updates on my stories, sneak peeks at upcoming chapters, a chance to interact, discussion of our favourite fandoms and random funnies, please follow me on Twitter. The link is on my profile. =)**_


	4. Frosty The Snowman

"Hey, munchkin," Jake said affectionately as he walked into the Woodhouse's home.

Three-year-old Emma was merrily building a Lego tower on the living room floor. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

"Jake!" she squealed excitedly, jumping up and wrapping her little arms around his legs.

He grinned as he picked his young friend up. She shrieked in glee as Jake spun her around.

"Higher! Higher!" she begged.

Jake grinned and obliged for a few minutes before he finally put her down and pretended to groan. "I won't be able to do that much longer, Em. You're getting too big."

Emma's eyebrows shot up and she frowned petulantly at his words. "I won't eat my _vegibles _and then I won't grow bigger," she suggested.

"You don't have a choice, kiddo," he said with a laugh as he tousled her blonde hair. "Your daddy will make sure that you eat all your _vegibles. _Speaking of food, I'm feeling hungry. Did you see where Aunty Blythe put the sausage rolls?"

Emma pointed a chubby finger towards the kitchen and Jake's green eyes lit up as he spotted a familiar Tupperware container.

"I'll be back," he murmured as he headed to the kitchen. Christmas lunch seemed like such a long time away. He'd just have a sausage roll or two to tide him over...

His mother must have some sort of radar because she appeared seemingly out of nowhere and playfully slapped her son's hand as he reached for the Tupperware container.

"I told you to save your appetite, Jake," she teased, as she moved the container away from her boy's outstretched hand.

"Aw, come on, Mum. I'm so hungry," Jake groaned, giving his mother his best puppy dog look.

Blythe shook her head resolutely. "Trust me, you'll be glad you saved room when lunch is ready," she promised. "I'm making a _feast."_

"Do you need help with anything?" Jake asked, wondering if helping his mother might make Christmas lunch ready a little faster.

His mother saw right through his scheme and she smiled.

"Thanks, honey, but I have it all under control," she said. "Why don't you go play with Emma for a while? She's pretty good at entertaining herself but I know she loves your company."

**...**

"I brought a special DVD for you, Em," Jake said, popping it into the DVD player.

Emma's hazel eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. "What is it?" she breathed, glancing curiously at the case that Jake held.

"It's called Frosty The Snowman," Jake responded.

Emma stared transfixed at the screen as the film played out.

Although he wouldn't admit it, it was one of Jake's favourites too and he enjoyed having the excuse to watch it again.

"Did you enjoy that, Em?" he asked as the credits started to roll.

She nodded her head thoughtfully.

"But, Jake," she asked hesitantly, "where is our snow?"

"We don't get snow here, munchkin," Jake said gently. "Well, in the colder parts of Australia we do, but not in Sydney. We'd have to go travelling if you want to see what real snow looks like."

Emma looked disappointed at this revelation and Jake could sympathise. He remembered wanting to see real snow when he'd first seen the movie too.

"Lunch is ready!" Blythe called then, and Jake grinned at his little friend, all thoughts of snow forgotten. Or so he thought.

"Come on, kiddo. Let's go get some food!"

**...**

"That was delicious, sweetheart," Peter said in appreciation as they finished tucking into the pavlova that Blythe had made for Christmas dessert. She hadn't wanted a repeat of last year's trifle incident and she'd decided to go for something less messy. Well, there was the whipped cream but she'd guarded the can carefully until dessert was served.

"Yes, Blythe, that was lovely. Thank you," Henry Woodhouse added graciously.

Blythe smiled. Henry was so fussy about what he ate, so she had devised a special menu just for him – boiled potatoes instead of roasted, plain broth instead of creamy vegetable soup, a few slices of turkey breast (sans gravy) and a fresh fruit salad instead of the pavlova. But she was glad that he'd enjoyed it.

"Mum, can I have some more whipped cream?" John asked, holding out his dessert plate.

"_May _I," Blythe corrected automatically. She was an English teacher by profession and correcting her kids' grammar was a bit of a habit.

"_May _I have some more whipped cream?" John repeated with a sigh.

"Yes, you may," Blythe said, looking around for the can. "Where is the whipped cream?"

"Izzy had it last," Jake said and all eyes turned towards the older Woodhouse girl.

"I don't have it anymore!" Isabella exclaimed defensively. "I just took a little bit and then I put the can down... next to Emma."

It was then that they all realised that three-year-old Emma had left the table. And so had the can of whipped cream.

"Oh, no," Blythe said in distress. "I hope she's not eating it – she'll make herself ill!"

Jake closed his eyes and groaned silently. He had a feeling he knew what Emma was doing with that whipped cream.

Sure enough, they found Emma in the living room, painstakingly squeezing mounds of whipped cream onto the dark blue carpet.

"_Emma! What are you doing?"_

The three-year-old looked up innocently. "I'm making a snowman," she replied, as though her creation should have been obvious to them all.

"His name is Frosty."

Blythe turned to stare at her older son, well aware of his penchant for the popular children's film.

"Jake... do you know anything about this?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I just let her watch the DVD, Mum. I didn't know she was going to try to make a snowman!"

"I hope this is going to come out of the carpet," Mr Woodhouse said anxiously, his brow furrowing.

Emma looked slightly crestfallen. Nobody seemed to be appreciating her snowman.

"Don't you like my snowman, Jake?" she asked sadly. "I made him for _you."_

He might have been a fifteen-year-old boy but his heart melted a little bit at that comment.

"It's a great snowman, Em," he said truthfully.

It _did _actually look surprisingly lifelike – considering that the sculptress was a three-year-old and she'd been working with whipped cream.

"But I think I'll have to take you to the snow so that we can build a _real _snowman next time. Would you like that?"

Her hazel eyes sparkled in delight. "Yes, please!"

Five years later, Jake Knightley took Emma Woodhouse to the Snowy Mountains, where they spent an entire afternoon building an army of snowmen.

And although she enjoyed the novelty of finally being able to play with real snow, eight-year-old Emma still thought that the original Frosty she had created at three was the best snowman that she'd ever made.

_**Author's Note: Thanks to iambbq, Stephy-Lou-Clark-Weasley, Lady Dudley and megs for reviewing the previous chapter.**_

_**I've never actually made a snowman before – but, like Emma, I'd love to give it a go someday. =)**_


	5. Christmas in the Sun

"Can you believe there are Christmas decorations in the shops already?" Blythe exclaimed. "My, how time flies."

"You just noticed them now, Mum? They've been up since September," Jake said with a grin. He tossed his books on the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator door.

"We'd better hurry up and confirm our Christmas plans then," mused Blythe. "I think your father said something about going to Port Stephens for a week, although he's yet to confirm with the house owner. Look, this is the house he was thinking of renting."

She turned to hand the advertisement to her son, only to catch him swigging orange juice straight out of the carton.

"I hope you're planning on finishing the rest of that carton, Jacob Knightley," she said sternly.

Jake downed the remainder of the orange juice quickly.

"Sorry, Mum. I was just so thirsty," he apologised sheepishly.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at the advertisement.

"It looks like a nice house, but how are we all going to fit in there?" he pondered.

His mother laughed. "Four people in a four-bedroom house? I think we'll manage."

Jake tossed the carton in the recycling bin and slowly turned to stare at his mother. "_Four_ people?"

"Yes, honey – your dad and I, you and John – that makes four," Blythe said in amusement. "Don't tell me I've added that up wrong!"

"Uh…" Jake said awkwardly. He scratched his head, opened his mouth and quickly closed it again. It was clear that he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should say it.

"What's on your mind?" his mother prompted. It wasn't like Jake to not say what was on his mind. He was normally very straightforward.

"What about the Woodhouses?" he blurted out. "Aren't they coming too?"

Blythe looked at him in surprise. "No, honey. They've probably made their own plans for Christmas."

"No, they won't!" Jake exclaimed. "Mum, you know Mr Woodhouse never plans anything special for the girls. And we've _always _spent Christmas with them. Ever since Emma was born."

Blythe looked at her son's earnest green eyes and felt her heart melt.

She had been looking forward to a holiday alone with her husband and boys, but Jake had a point. They had shared Christmas with the Woodhouse family for the past five years and their time together had become a holiday tradition of sorts. And in her heart, she knew it wasn't likely that Mr Woodhouse would think about celebrating Christmas of his own accord, even with his two precious daughters.

"Or if he did try to plan something special, it would be gruel with fruit on it instead of plain gruel," Jake said dolefully. Blythe couldn't help but smile at her son's theatrics, but he did make a good point.

"I'll talk to your father and see what we can do, honey," she acquiesced. "But if he insists that we go on our own, I don't want any arguing, OK?"

* * *

><p>Peter yawned as he turned his key into the lock and opened the front door. He smiled at the sight of his lovely wife curled up in an armchair, reading a book.<p>

"What are you reading there, honey?" he asked softly, looking over her shoulder.

"_Pride and Prejudice_," Blythe replied, putting her book down so she could give her husband a kiss.

Peter rolled his eyes slightly. "Again? With the number of times you've read that book, you probably have it memorised by now!"

"It's a classic!" his wife exclaimed. "Besides," she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement, "it always reminds me of how we first met."

"Are you comparing me to Mr Darcy?" Peter chuckled. "Should I be offended?"

"Well, we did have a pretty stormy first meeting," Blythe recalled fondly.

She glanced at the clock. "Gracious, look at the time! You must be starving."

"You're the best, honey," Peter said gratefully as he accepted the plate of lasagna and salad that his wife had prepared for him. As he began eating, his eyes drifted towards the flyer sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

"I have some bad news for you, Blythe," he admitted. "I got a call from the owner of the house in Port Stephens today. His niece decided she wanted to rent the house and since we haven't actually paid a deposit yet, he's decided to lease it to her."

Blythe's mouth opened slightly. "But, Peter, that's…"

"And furthermore," Peter interrupted, "I've checked out the websites and it looks like most of the accommodation in Port Stephens has been booked up over the Christmas holidays. There's only one place that's available but it's for eight people…"

His wife gasped. "Oh, Peter, that's…"

"I'm not sure what we should do for Christmas now," Peter continued. "Maybe we should go down to Melbourne? Or what about Tasmania?"

Blythe put her hands on her hips but there was a growing smile on her face.

"Peter Knightley, would you just be quiet and let your wife finish speaking?"

Her husband looked at her in astonishment, but had the good sense to keep quiet this time.

"We'll be going to Port Stephens for Christmas, just like you wanted," she declared triumphantly.

Peter was aghast. "But, Blythe, we don't need a house for eight people…"

"Oh, yes, we do," she said firmly. "If the Woodhouses come with us."

She seized the opportunity to tell her husband about her conversation with Jake and his touching request to spend Christmas with the Woodhouse family.

* * *

><p>"Look at this shell, Jake!" four-year-old Emma squealed in delight, as she picked up a luminous creamy shell and eyed it with awe. "Ooh, and there's another shell… and another!"<p>

She darted happily around the beach, picking up all the unique shells she could find, as Jake chased after her.

Isabella was gingerly dipping a foot in the water whilst John, already in the ocean, was urging her to just jump in.

Mr Woodhouse was sitting under a gigantic beach umbrella, applying SPF 50+ sunscreen.

_Not that he really needed it as he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and trousers_, mused Blythe. But that was Mr Woodhouse for you – always overly cautious.

She leaned back in her beach chair and sighed contentedly as warm rays of golden sunshine danced upon her face.

"What's on your mind, honey?" Peter asked affectionately, looking up from his detective novel.

Blythe smiled lovingly at him. "Just that I'm glad the four-bedroom house fell through and that the Woodhouses could come to Port Stephens with us."

Her husband smiled back. "Me too. Merry Christmas."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! Wishing you all the best for 2015.<em>


End file.
